The cold woke Fred. He was lying naked on the grass. In the moment before he fell asleep he'd rolled onto his back and pulled the zombie against his chest, smelling the dried apples and woodsmoke on his tangled black hair. He couldn't have slept for more than a few minutes but still, he felt a pang of guilt. He rested his hand over his lover's shrunken fingers.
"I didn't think to ask your name," Fred said.
"William Burcherson. Died 31st of October. Lost soul," he said.
"Lost huh. I found you okay. I'm Fred Jones."
"I'm glad to know you Fred. People call me Billy."
"I'm glad to know you too. What people?"
"Well lets see. Lately it's my murderer. Her sisters. And a couple of youths I helped once. Oh, and a cat."
"Huh." Fred pulled Billy closer, unwilling to get up yet, despite the chill seeping into his delts and glutes. "Your murderer still bothering you?"
"No, she's dust. And I find I don't have nightmares now that I'm dead."
Fred ran his hand over Billy's ribs, feeling the papery skin beneath his chilled fingertips. What to do next? He was hired to find out what or who the zombie was, and he had, but that didn't seem like enough. Could he go back to Jennifer Honey and the fierce blue lady and just tell them not to worry?
Billy sat up, exposing the rest of Fred's skin to the chill night air. Forcing action.
"Billy?"
"What is it, Fred?"
"Uh, are you happy, with the way things are? Just - just being alive the way you are?"
Billy didn't speak. He was sitting with his knees pulled into his chest, and Fred watched him pull in a breath. Not to live, but as a kind of gesture. Fred's nerves started to jangle. Did I say something wrong? The cold was really starting to bother him so he reached for his shirt. He jammed his damp limbs into his clothes in silence. He even tied his ascot again, just so that he would have somewhere to look in the still and silent cemetery.
"Fred," Billy said evenly.
"Yeah?"
"Will you come with me? I think I have an answer to your question."
"Sure thing, pal."